The Fields of Asphodel
by Menokai
Summary: The Third Shinobi War bore down on us, our father's despairing legacy, and we became flawless tools of destruction. We fought. We survived. And we had to learn what it meant to live. [Gratuitous self-insert]
1. Dawn Break

i: _Dawn Break_

* * *

The dreams ended with blood and pain and darkness, and the memories began with biting cold and fear. Everything was a whirlwind of sensation, and along with it came a dizzying vertigo as I felt myself be lifted high above the ground. A high-pitched wailing came from what I assumed was my left, and I instinctively reached out with arms I could not feel to soothe whoever was crying. A painful itch rippled under and over my skin, and there was something heavy in the air that clung to my lungs and made me want to choke, almost like I was drowning.

Desperate and near-blind with no control over my body, I seized, flailed, and then cried in earnest. Hands brushed all over me, and I wiggled to try and get away, but unconsciousness tugged at the corners of my blurred vision. Sleep pulled over my mind in a tide as strong and receding as the ocean. I fought against it in my panic, but there was little I could do to resist it, and thus fell to warm darkness once again.

Hatake Komugi and Kakashi were born on September 15, two weeks premature, in their childhood home to one elated Hatake Sakumo and his wife, Chinatsu. Senju Tsunade witnessed and aided the birth. There was a quiet celebration in the aftermath as the two parents held their son and daughter with disbelieving smiles. The girl had been a delightful surprise, but with Tsunade's help, Komugi and Chinatsu came out mostly unscathed and exhausted. It was a time of joy as the twins came into the world whole and hale, in spite of their early arrival.

Only I was aware of how wrong it was.

Komugi's birth was not a miracle; it was a blight that marred the very fabric of reality. I was not supposed to exist, much less in the Naruto universe. Shadows of the past echoed in my dreams for many years, acting as proof of how unnatural it was. Tall towers of glass and steel touched the sky behind my eyelids, and the sharp odor of gasoline tingled my nose as cars roared on the interstate. Dr. Pepper fizz tickled the back of my throat as I swallowed, its coolness refreshing on a late summer afternoon after work. Then I blinked and saw the world in contrasts of light and dark, rather than color, and realized those days had come to an end.

For those first few months, I grieved. I grieved for the family, the life, the home that I had lost in one fell swoop. I had been a horrible baby. My recalcitrant attitude towards the man and woman who took care of me created an emotional distance, not to mention my frequent fits as developing chakra coils itched and burned (though at the time, I had not known what it was). My anger manifested against anything within sight: the walls, the blankets, the toys.

I wanted nothing do with this - reincarnation.

At around seven months of age, the world gained some clarity. My vision had returned, and if I was not mistaken, far sharper and fuller than it had been before. My sense of smell was oddly keen, as was my hearing. I could catch the distinct whiff of the Sakumo's now-familiar scent of damp leaves and something fainter beneath that, sharp like ozone, and hear his soft footsteps before he entered the room. He didn't seem surprised when he walked in and saw me already staring in his direction.

I spent hours intermittently rolling onto my stomach and bracing my arms and legs against the floor, intent on at least crawling. Chinatsu would sometimes help my pathetic attempts by gently balancing my weight from beneath my arms until my feet held somewhat steadily. She would do the same for my brother, as well, and it wasn't long before the both of us could awkwardly waddle several paces before our legs gave out. Sakumo was always there to catch us before our heads hit the floor.

Gradually, I learned to love Sakumo and Chinatsu despite my intense discomfort at calling them "mom" and "dad." It was hard not to, considering that they held my hands when I tried to stand for those first steps, changed my diapers, and they had carefully, painstakingly nursed me back to health after a mild fever. My twin brother became my pillar, and me his. Without his perpetual presence at my side, the resentment and anger would have easily turned into hatred, and it's terrifying to think about who I might have become.

I was trapped in the confines of my own mind, and was thusly bored. Being an infant was a great trial of patience, as trying to regain muscle coordination for the most basic of tasks was a cause for frustration. Listening and picking up the language that was spoken here was twofold in difficulty, and sometimes my eyes would burn from unshed tears when I couldn't procure evident progress. Most of the time, on particularly bad days when the grief would constrict my chest and not ease, I would seek out Kakashi - though he was never far behind. Unwittingly, he would be dragged into hugs that degraded into cuddling on the floor. Sometimes Sakumo or Chinatsu would find us curled around one another, quietly content with the other's company.

When we were one year old, Chinatsu died.

She had seemed drawn and pale for several months, and took to sitting and resting more often than not. She indulged Kakashi and I when we sought her company, but it was obvious she was not well when she muffled raspy coughs with shaking hands. A fierce woman with blonde hair and brown eyes visited once a week to check on Chinatsu, but it seemed as if there was little to be done. I had stumbled upon the woman and Sakumo arguing in harsh whispers down the hall from where Chinatsu slept. Sakumo had stopped the moment he noticed me and curtly dismissed the woman before unceremoniously picking me up by the waist and holding me tight as he went back to the bedroom.

Two weeks after the blonde woman's final visit, Chinatsu passed away silently in her sleep. I had watched over her with Kakashi as her breathing gradually slowed and her skin became ice under our hands. We shook her, trying to wake her with frantic, insistent cries. When she failed to respond, I turned and hugged my brother as tears stained my cheeks. He kept trying to touch our mother, not understanding, and my heart constricted in despair (he would never get to know her, nor would I).

For a few months, Kakashi and I were left almost entirely alone in the family compound as Sakumo hid in his room or threw himself into mission after mission. Every time he looked at either of us, his kind, smiling face would become strangled and heartbroken. His behavior, his avoidance, hurt more than Chinatsu's death.

"Dad!" Kakashi chirped when he noticed Sakumo walking into the main hall. It was the first time we had seen him in over a month. Vivid bruises stood out against the man's pale arms, and heavy bandages peaked over the collar of his vest.

The man froze, staring at his son with me close behind, as Kakashi toddled toward him and hugged his leg. I watched him warily, not quite as forgiving as Kakashi, but I didn't resist when the man pulled us both in a tight grasp and bowed his face into our hair. "I'm sorry," he choked out. "Oh, I am sorry. Please forgive me."

Something had happened on his mission, though what it had been, I was not sure. Whatever it was, I was thankful because we had our dad back, not some mournful ghost patrolling the compound during the night.

At two years old, Kakashi and I could speak in simple sentences. It was also around this time that I found I couldn't ignore the clues anymore, such as the metal on the headband tied around Sakumo's head and the rubber knives - kunai - that Sakumo showed us how to handle. The signs had been there, but isolated as I was within the family compound, the dots had not connected until Kakashi and I went outside to explore while Sakumo was on a mission.

Bold and impossible to ignore, the faces of the Hokages were carved in the side of the mountain and watching over Konohagakure, the Hidden Village of the Leaves. Everyday people milling about the street suddenly stood out noticeably apart from the darkly dressed ninja with headbands carefully concealed or openly worn somewhere on their person. One man ran across the rooftops effortlessly, gliding with an enviable grace and skill. His headband gleamed in the afternoon sunlight as he passed overhead.

My brain froze, rewound, rebooted.

Kakashi was understandably worried when I sat down in the middle of the road, stunned and dazed, as nausea curdled in my gut. Hatake Kakashi, the future Copy-nin, my twin brother, grabbed my hand, and I tightly clutched back.

I was unbelievably, inexplicably, in Naruto.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I have fallen to the temptation and written a self-insert fanfiction. I wrote this first chapter multiple times and consulted a friend for each of those drafts, wanting to get it perfect. Eventually, I just rolled with it. Hopefully, I can do the ninja world some justice.

 _Published:_ 9.20.2017  
 _Edited:_ 9.22.2017  
 _Word Count:_ 1525


	2. Masks

ii. _Masks_

* * *

My thoughts were turbulent since my discovery. Most of the week was spent in a haze of disbelief and incredulity. People aren't just born in a fictional world that used to be mere drawings on pages read from left to right, yet here I was. A world's worth of secrets were dangling at the tip of my tongue, and I lacked the courage to voice them. Was there anything that I could change? Was there anything I _wanted_ to change?

We aren't always who we like to think we are.

I was afraid of Sakumo, afraid of what he had the potential to do. I wanted to walk up to him, hold his face in my hands, and sternly tell him that he should not do what he has yet to even consider. On the other hand, I wanted to grab my twin brother and run in the other direction. Realistically, was there any possibility of me preventing his suicide if not even Kakashi, his beloved, adored son, could heal the depression in his heart? A sense of futility overhung my mind. I felt powerless for all the knowledge I had, and many of those key plot points had long since become faded in my memory; I hadn't liked Naruto in the first place! Sakumo's death, Obito's betrayal, Rin's death, Kakashi being alone… it was inevitable. There was nothing that I, nothing that Komugi, could do to change that.

Fear became my greatest, and my worst, motivator as defeat hung about me in a sullen cloud. Curiosity was my second.

When you're granted access to an entirely new sense that had never existed before, it's at once overwhelming and amazing. Chakra was a limb I was unaccustomed to having, and if I focused too much on the chakra-laden air, it would send me in a fit of coughs and sneezes. It was impossible to describe; for all of its foreign presence to my mind, my body was naturally born in this world, and thus my awareness of it was almost entirely mental. It ran warm and soothing beside my heart, and it was laughably simple to navigate and control to different areas of my body. They were called tenketsu points, if I recalled correctly. It became difficult when I tried to apply the chakra outside to influence other things.

I knew, generally, what types of things chakra was capable of producing. Destructive abilities came to mind, such as the Rasengan or Summoning. In spite of, or perhaps because of, my fear of this world, I couldn't suppress my excitement at the realization that I would be able to walk on water, make clones, teleport, or even spit fire. Filled with giddiness and anticipation, I held my chubby fingers in front of me, palms up, and focused on channeling the chakra to my hands. I don't remember anything after that before waking up in a hospital bed. Kakashi was curled against my side and Sakumo was slumped in a chair nearby. The fierce blonde woman was above me, hands limned in green, as she applied chakra to my system methodically. It felt intrusive and strange, and I hiccuped.

"Aware, are you?" she asked rhetorically. Her chakra felt like unbending earth, and it hummed in my ears like the shifting of tectonic plates. A faint, bitter, and woodsy aftertaste coated my tongue. Her amber gaze pinned me to the bed as Sakumo stirred in the chair. "Don't do that again, kid. You knew exactly what you were playing with, and that's extremely dangerous for adults, much less a two year old." I blinked at her with woeful doe eyes, and she only rolled hers in return. Nonetheless, the experience had certainly startled me. The lesson had been learnt.

Sakumo seemed to feel much the same. He began to actively teach Kakashi and I. He sat us both down and told us, in no uncertain terms, that we were not allowed to practice using chakra until we went into the Academy. His gaze directed itself firmly on me, and I heard the warning beneath his concern. (That didn't deter me from attempting different control exercises, such as sticking various objects to my palms.)

In the enclosed garden at home, he made us perform rigorous stretches so that we could rest our palms on the grass flat with our knees straight. Both of us could effortlessly perform splits and cartwheels without so much as a twinge. It was exhilarating to be able to do something as simple as a cartwheel or a mid-air flip when such acts had been far beyond my set of skills before. He also taught us basic hand-to-hand combat with a foundation for flexibility and speed. Kakashi and I were both very small for our age, and I knew that would not change until we were well into our teens. I lived in denial about it, but could not deny the practicality of our father's taijutsu. If we didn't have the bulk for grappling, than we'd have to be quick and out of reach before they even knew we were there.

Sakumo curled our stubby fingers into tight fists and adjusted our stances in ways that felt peculiar and slightly stupid to hold, but he was surprisingly relentless.

"Komugi, stop hiding your thumb in your fists," Sakumo barked. "You're going to break your thumb that way. Kakashi, shift your knees further apart. Good!"

He placed kunai in our hands when we were three. He maneuvered our hands in the correct positions for various types of throws and had us practice on a target painted on a tree in the lawn. We threw until our fingers ached and our hands were covered in tiny, scattered cuts from knicking skin on the sharp edges. He began to allow us to spar one another in taijutsu, but not without him supervising us.

Unsurprisingly, he caught us practicing alone in the garden several times. He never seemed particularly angry, only exasperated and fond of our persistence.

Of course, it wasn't all about training. We went out in the neighborhood, often on errands, and watched our father converse with many people who welcomed us with smiles on their faces. People talked readily with Sakumo, and Kakashi and I often made a game out of figuring out who was a shinobi and who was a civilian. Sakumo was obviously well-respected (but not respected enough, or they would have never driven him to-).

One night, while eating at a restaurant that was infamous for its seasoned soups and fruit-centered desserts on our fourth birthday, we were introduced to Namikaze Minato, the future Yondaime and teacher to Team Seven, and his teacher Jiraiya, Naruto's godfather and one of the Sannin. I had barely been able to scrape my jaw off the table when we sat down and the spiky-haired blond, looking barely a day over thirteen, slid in the seat across from Sakumo with a bright smile. His status as a chuunin was prominent by the forest green vest he wore. Jiraiya followed shortly behind. He lacked the stress lines and age spots that he'd had in the show, and his hair was a pristine white with red markings going down his cheeks from his eyes. For most of the evening, Sakumo and Jiraiya conversed about seals with Minato listening avidly, vividly blue eyes flickering between the two of them intently.

"And who are these two children I see?" Jiraiya leered at us with a wide grin that made me scoot closer to Kakashi defensively. His chakra reminded me of a marsh with plenty of shaded areas where predators skulked in the shadows. Kakashi, for his part, observed quietly. (It was very strange to see Kakashi without a mask on, toddler or otherwise.) We both took delicate sips of hot miso soup, and I discreetly put my eggplant in his bowl. He smiled at me in thanks, and we both ignored Sakumo's put-upon sigh.

"Sensei, leave them alone," Minato said with exasperation borne from familiarity. He smiled calmly down at us, and all I could think was, _wow he's radiant_. Minato was serenity and genuine kindness wrapped in a blond package, and his chakra was equally bright and calm. What came to mind was the smell of a forest after it rained with a hint of lingering wind that had the potential to become brutal gales. "They look just like you, Sakumo-san."

Sakumo tugged us closer to him affectionately, ruffling our matching silver hair and making it messier than it already was. My nose scrunched in displeasure. Kakashi and I exchanged dull looks. "Thank you Minato-kun," he replied with a smile. "They do take after me, don't they? Kakashi's got more of his mother's face on him though." There was sorrow in the edge of his expression, but it was subdued in comparison to its prominence not too long ago.

"Are you entering them in the Academy come spring?" Minato asked.

Sakumo hesitated, and Kakashi and I both perked in visible interest. "I might," Sakumo hedged. "They're both very smart and pick up on things quickly, so I have no doubt that they would graduate within a year or two."

"A set of prodigies you have there, huh, Sakumo? Just like their old man!" Jiraiya laughed heartedly.

The conversation drifted from the topic, but my thoughts stuck on it. I wasn't ready to go the Academy, and not because I couldn't keep up or learn the topics. No, I was worried because going to the Academy meant that it was getting closer and closer to the day Sakumo would fail his mission and signify the start of the Third Shinobi War.

That night I couldn't sleep. I clung to Kakashi tightly, and he grumbled less than usual before drifting off. I buried my face in his hair and tried not to cry.

The next morning, Sakumo placed two black cotton masks on the table as we ate a simple breakfast of rice and egg. We would have to go out and get groceries soon.

"Wearing a mask in the Hatake clan," Sakumo began, "was the symbol of a child growing up to maturity and beginning to learn their craft." Dad smiled. "Kakashi, Komugi, if you two want to enter the Academy in April, I will enroll you, and you two will have the choice to take up these masks."

"Yes, Dad!" Kakashi said instantly, a wide smile with a hint of a blush on his face that I never thought I would see on the infamous Copy-nin.

"Yes, Dad," I replied, softer and more hesitant. I stared at the coarse, thin material in my hands, before sliding it over my head and down my neck. I adjusted it until it covered my nose and mouth. My breath heated the fabric, but it was not difficult to breathe in nor was it uncomfortable. Kakashi and I stared at each other with our new adornments before turning to Sakumo.

He looked proud. I felt sick.

The days began counting down, one at a time, and the war loomed ominously closer.

As did our fates.

* * *

 **Author's** **Note** : The chapters feel fairly short to me. I think that will be my goal; make them longer with more substance. It might just be the introductory chapters that are shorter, as I want them finished as much as everyone else, but they're still very important.

Thank you for the wonderful reviews, Bearful and EmmieSauce! Hopefully this story will continue to be one you enjoy. :)

 _Published:_ 9.22.2017  
 _Word Count:_ 1854


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